


Still Awesome

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Funeral Scene, Ghost!Prussia, Humans Names Used, Love Confessions, M/M, Other minor characters - Freeform, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert wakes up this morning to find a day that will change both his and his friend for the rest of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Awesome

His first clue was that the world seemed much less lively when he woke up that morning. He had woken up in his bed at home and though everything seemed normal, everything looked dull at the same time. The usually neon colors of his comforter weren't as bright now; the sunlight streaming in through the window looked more pastel and sickly than it did warm and yellow; even the outside sky looked to be a polluted blue-black, sure to be covered by rain clouds later in the day. They'd block out what little of the sickly sunlight there was, which normally would have bothered Gilbert if it weren't for a few other distractions.

Like how Gilbird--oh, how awesome that name was even after all these years with the little guy--didn't come when he called for him. That alone made the albino worry; Gilbird _always_ responded with a peep or a flutter of wings if he didn't just fly to his master. He wondered if maybe Pierre had gotten a hold of him again. Leave it to Francis to raise a gay bird who just happened to like the smaller chicks. He gave a nod, determined to believe that for now and say that his buddy was safe and out of harm's way.

His second clue was that he was cold. That was actually an understatement in his mind's eye. He was below freezing. Sure, Germany wasn't exactly near the equator, and he did need to fix his heating frequently, but this felt like Ivan just dumped him butt naked into a snowstorm in Moscow. He was wearing clothing though: the red and black checkered pants that Francis said made his rear look a little too round to resist squeezing every other time they were near each other and the two sizes too large T-shirt that Antonio had customized for him for his birthday. It had a picture of the three of them fooling around, one Ludwig had taken of them when they'd visited Disney World with Alfred and Arthur. Under them were the words "I'm Awesome!" with the "I'm" crossed out and replaced with "We're" in red above it. It was easily his favorite shirt, easily the best one to curl up inside of, and yet here he was, so cold that he could probably see his breath...which he couldn't.

That was his third clue. He couldn't see his breath. He couldn't see the little puffs in front of him, couldn't smell the morning stink of it since he hadn't brushed his teeth yet. He couldn't feel the rise and fall of his chest as he took in the not so crisp air.

He couldn't feel it because he wasn't breathing at all.

 

 

 

_**~continue~** _

Gilbert was sure that if it was still beating, his heart would have exploded. By now, he'd gotten over the shock of the fact that yes, he wasn't breathing and yes, that definitely meant he was dead. It was difficult to wrap his head around though. If he was dead, truly dead and supposedly gone from the world, then why had he woken up in his bed? Why could he still walk--although now he found he could glide through the air, not quite flying but not exactly just riding the wind--around his house and through the walls to the world outside his walls? He hadn't done that immediately though. He did check around his little apartment flat first, finding Gilbird fed and in his cage. He was with Pierre-- _of friggin' course_ \--but taken care of all the same. Little bird probably needed the company since he obviously couldn't see his ghost of a master.

The albino tried to think about the ghost stories Arthur told Alfred to scare the crap out of him, or the myths Kiku used to tell them on Halloween night because Feliciano was always willing to listen. He heard about them haunting other people or holding grudges against them but he didn't feel any of that towards anyone. Besides maybe Antonio--they'd really fallen out of contact over the years but Francis still made time for the other two individually. He always seemed to favor the Prussian--which was more awesome than calling himself German, and he was from the area where Prussia used to exist--over the Spaniard though, oddly enough. Gilbert never complained. Francis was pretty much his only friend besides his brother--when he wasn't being such a tight-ass--and Elizaveta, but she didn't count since she had her boyfriend to hang with. Silly little "Rod-up-his-ass" Roderich. He chuckled at the self titled nickname.

Finding that he couldn't think of any reason why he was still here, and also finding that he'd searched his entire house already, Gilbert finally decided to go outside. As he predicted earlier, it was beginning to rain, just a little drizzle for now. The drops fell right through him. That was actually pretty depressing: looking up at the cloud covered sky and not being able to feel the water droplets on his cheeks or risk getting them in his eyes. It was one of the best feelings in the world and now it was just a memory of his life. In addition to this, he discovered that he still walked out of habit, even when he could glide. He could probably go up to where the rain was coming from if he wanted to. Instead, he simply walked the familiar path to Francis' house, wondering if he knew his friend was dead. He assumed so, since the Prussian's body wasn't anywhere near where he'd woken up. He was proven right when he finally found Francis lying in bed, asleep. Why was he still asleep?

The new ghost sat next to the Frenchman's bed, noticing more and more as the seconds ticked away. He noticed how his eyes were puffy and his cheeks were streaked from old tears. He noticed how the usually well kept blonde hair was now tousled and tangled, as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. How long had Gilbert been dead for? A day? A week? A month? Hell, even a year? How long had he been in that comatose state on his bed, leaving everything he knew behind? He wished he could wake his French friend up, but every time he tried, his hand slipped right through the sleeping body. He would say that he noticed said body wasn't clothed from at least the waist up--since the rest was covered by blankets--but Francis always slept semi-naked, if not completely, so it wasn't unusual.

What was unusual was that there was something clutched in his hand.

Upon closer inspection, as close as as a ghost could check, he saw that it was a photograph. One of him and Francis, no Antonio or Ludwig or anyone else, sitting and holding hands. Gilbert was eating an ice cream cone and not looking at whoever was taking the picture. There was a small blush on his face as he and Francis sat at one of the park's green benches that they both almost couldn't fit on. He honestly didn't know why the blonde had wanted to hold his hand, but he did and someone snapped the picture when Gilbert had allowed it. He remembered that day pretty vaguely, much to his disappointment.

Blue eyes blinked open, startling the admiring ghost into thinking he'd been caught staring. He swore he felt the heat rise to his face despite the lack of blood in his system to produce the blushing effect. Those hues were staring right at him, as if they could see him, no matter how impossible that seemed. Francis seemed to notice that tidbit too because he simply shook his head and sat up, leaving the picture crumpled by his equally crinkled pillow. The Prussian watched as his friend stretched and stood, left for the bathroom and came out some twenty minutes later, hair damp but brushed at least. He simply had a towel around his waist that he held with one hand while he searched for clothes with the other.

Gilbert sighed.

Francis shivered, feeling a little colder.

Gilbert chuckled at that, wondering how much was coincidence and how much was his doing. He felt like Jack Frost for a moment, the one from that new movie; he was felt but not seen, not really believed in. They had both died too, but he hardly considered himself a Guardian. An expert prankster, yes, but not a Guardian. When that train of thought passed, he found his French friend dressed in a black suit, halfheartedly attempting to smooth out the wrinkles around his midriff. There was a weak smile gracing his lips and Gilbert knew he hadn't died too long ago. There was no way that he'd be so down otherwise. The albino had never seen him that way around himself, not even when he _knew_ something was going on between him and Antonio or Arthur or even with family. Never once did he see such a weak smile or frown from the other. The dull ache where his heart used to be--probably just a memory or a natural reaction like the "heat" in his face--told him he was glad he didn't see it before.

Having nothing better to do, he wound up following the blonde out of the house after twenty minutes of watching the Disney Channel. He chuckled, the phrase _old habits die hard_ popping into his head. "Kesese, Francis...I'm wondering how long it'll take you to get over it." The male shivered in response, eyes briefly becoming glossed with tears and further making the ghost wonder exactly what effect his actions were having in the world of the living.

 

 

 

_**~continue~** _

He couldn't help but say that he had perfectly awesome deduction skills. At least, Gilbert would say it if it weren't about his own death. He'd followed his friend from the house to the funeral home near the downtown area, which was just a few streets down from their homes. So he'd been gone at least a week, which would have given all his relatives and friends enough time to get out here to America. He saw Ludwig and Feliciano, the usually bouncy male trying to keep still and remain respectful to the atmosphere. He saw Alfred and Arthur, the American doing nothing to hide the fact that he was pretty much smuggling the hors d'oeuvres in his pockets. The Brit eventually got tired of berating him and decided that Gilbert would probably be encouraging it anyway.

The ghost in question pretended to smack his face silly for that, despite how true it was.

He even saw Antonio and Lovino there, which surprised him a bit until he remembered that Francis and Feliciano probably forced them to come to it. Antonio, at the very least. If there was one thing Gilbert regretted, it was arguing with the Spaniard. He honestly hadn't known what set him off, what broke up their little trio, but it had to do with the Prussian and after the mostly Spanish one-sided yelling, they'd fallen out of contact.

Gilbert wished he could cry. For once, he wished he had cried more often in his life so he could replicate the feeling now. During the actual reception, just before his dead body was to be buried, he honestly wished he could cry at some of the words his friends and brother shared. Arthur mentioned the event that was currently on the ghost's shirt, how much fun they'd all had that day, how much fun every day was with the dead male. "It was hard not to smile around him, no matter how self-centered he could be, or how stupid some of those puns were," he'd said. "He wasn't too bad at comforting when you really needed him. It was like he knew what to say and when to say it so that every else was completely caught off guard."

Francis looked like he was going to cry again--a sight that made the ghost want to tear out his own heart to alleviate some of the pain. His body was right there; he could technically do it. He didn't though. He sat--well, floated, but he pretended there was a chair there for him--next to the Frenchman's chair, listening not to the detail or the events but the sheer emotion behind his words. The sincerity, the way the words simply flowed, even the fact that he looked like he was trying not to hold himself--it all just added together to make him wonder what his friend was thinking while he said it.

More people followed, family and friends who he barely knew, who said smaller sentiments about him, things from his childhood, things from when they'd first met, things they'd wished they'd done with him. Roderich was among one of the people who said, genuinely said, he wished he'd gotten to know Gilbert better like Elizaveta had told him to do.

Ludwig went last.

Ludwig didn't say much either.

But Ludwig _was_ crying.

His brother--big, strong, emotionless brother--was crying over the death of his sibling. His little brother--stupid, idiotic, dating an Italian brother--said eight words he rarely ever heard come from his mouth in his lifetime.

"I love you, Gilbert. I will miss you."

 

 

 

_**~continue~** _

The rest of the time went by painfully slow. His casket was lowered into the ground--after Gilbert had gotten a good look at himself, of course, and if he had to say so, he looked pretty damn hot in that suit--and each person took turns shoveling dirt onto it, like they were supposed to. Francis was the one who went last this time, finishing up the job while the others began to leave. Soon enough, it was just him sitting on his gravestone and the little blonde Frenchie, black coat on the ground and white sleeves rolled up. They'd still gotten dirt on them by that time, so it was an almost futile attempt at keeping clean; it was a habit more than a genuine action.

He looked so small knelt there, at the foot of the freshly covered spot, dirt covered and sweaty. He looked small and exhausted, sitting on his calves, his back bent like a flower stem with too big petals attached. There were two small darker patches of dirt by his knees where tears silently dripped directly from his eyes. Gilbert couldn't leave though--he just had this feeling that his friend would know he answer to why he was still on Earth and not in Heaven or Hell or whatever he was supposed to be. He might even _be_ the answer, for all the Prussian knew.

The sun was setting by the time someone finally decided to check on the reminiscing man, limply sitting by the grave. The ghost would be willing to say that he would have stayed there forever if no one came. Someone did though: Antonio. He too knelt by the freshly filled grave, not saying anything immediately. His hand rested on his French friend's, patting it, rubbing it with his thumb. Finally, he looked to the mess next to him. "He wouldn't like seeing you cry like this."

"Damn straight I don't like seeing it. Forget what I said earlier. I'm glad we lost contact with each other! Idiotic bastard that you are--what kind of thing to say is that when he's upset? Insensitive fuc--" The ghost paused in his what was supposed to be monologue, since he was assuming no one could hear him. His ruby hues had connected with Francis' sapphire ones again though and it was almost painfully obvious that his speech was being heard and processed. The previously crying eyes no longer were, though they were still threatening to burst again at any minute, and the lips far below them had parted in shock. Could he be seen as well as heard? "Fuck yeah! Even as a ghost, I'm awesome!"

The blonde had to hold in his laughter to avoid looking crazy. He turned to Antonio and nodded. " _Oui,_ I know. It's hard not to, knowing he really is gone this time... I will come back soon. I would just like...a few more moments? _Si'l vous plait_?" The Spanish male nodded, giving a quick kiss to his friend's cheek--"What the actual hell, 'Tonio? Since when did you have a thing for the Frenchie?"--before leaving him to his devices. As soon as he was out of sight, said Frenchie bolted up faster than Gilbert thought possible with his previous state. Avoiding the newly covered ground, he stomped over to the ghost he could see, staring directly into his unique eyes.

"Gilbert, you...you're..." The Prussian let him fumble for words in trying to describe how he felt or ask how it was possible, and more than once he thought he saw the man stop himself from trying to hug a body that wasn't there. He was smiling, stuttering, crying again, practically flailing with the way his hand gestures were. " _O-Oh Mon dieu,_ Gilbert...what are you still doing here? I thought you would have...would have..."

"...moved on? Yeah, so did I." Finally deciding to help his friend out, he grinned widely, getting comfortable on his gravestone again. He honestly felt like a bird perching on its nest; he probably looked the part too. "But noooooo, God or the Devil or who-the-fuck-ever decides to make me wake up this morning and discover on my own that I'm as dead as my brother's sex life." That got a laugh out of the Frenchman, a true genuine laugh, not those fake things he'd been pulling before the burial. _I guess Artie was right. I do kinda know what to say, no matter how stupid it is._ "Gilbird was fed though, and I'm assuming it was you who fed him because you left a calling card there. I'm supposed to have one partridge in my pear tree, not two and a half." _I am on a roll today!_

"S-Stop! Stop, I can't br-breathe!" Francis squeezed the words in through giggles and titters, holding his sides as he tried to take his friend seriously. It was obviously a failing attempt, but after a few minutes, he wiped his eyes and managed to stop laughing quite so much. There were still a few chuckles here and there, amidst a comfortable silence. It was the living man who broke said silence.

"Gilbert...what did you mean earlier? When Antonio kissed my cheek?"

Another silence followed the words, this one much less comfortable than the last. It wasn't an awkward one in any sense; it was more confused and unsure than that, like Gilbert knew the answer was obvious to everyone but him. He thought about it for a moment, trying to think if Antonio had shown any signs of liking their mutual friend during the time he'd known him. He was actually pretty surprised when he found that there were several times when the Spanish man had bought something Francis had wanted, or held his hand when they walked, or flushed when Francis complimented something like that God awful cologne he'd probably been trying to impress their friend with, This silence was broken by the dead man, with a quiet, "Oh. Didn't uh...didn't realize 'Tonio liked you...like that."

There was yet another silence--these things had to end soon; they were really starting to tick Gilbert off since he wasn't used to _not_ filling any space up with his awesome voice--though to both their reliefs, it was short lived. Antonio once again came over, this time to take Francis home since it was starting to get dark and he didn't "want Francis to start seeing ghosts that could scare him while he was here."

"Oh, Antonio...if you only knew." He whispered, motioning from behind his back for his ghostly friend to follow him. The Prussian obediently obeyed and gliding along next to him. This time though, he didn't keep silent and still. He tried to get France to slip up and laugh again by doing all sorts of things to Antonio as he walked: stroking his hair, poking his cheek, groping his rear and various other parts of his body. He even said a few phrases he knew would have pissed the other off, like asking about how his little Italy brothers were fairing, or if he'd beaten that rock at math yet. Antonio was actually pretty smart and they all knew that; he was just slow to react, especially if Francis was teasingly flirting with him.

That was just Francis though. He was always playing around like that, more so with Gilbert and Antonio than other people. _Makes me wonder though,_ the ghost thought to himself while he sat next to his French friend in his former one's car. _How much of that flirting really is just pretend...and how much is he being serious about?_ He looked over at the blonde, scanning over his soft smile, his distant eyes, his hands folded in his lap.

_And to who?_

 

 

 

_**~continue~** _

They had made a quick pit stop at Gilbert's place, so empty and desolate with the Prussian there, and now said Prussian realized it was being gutted of all his belongings. It made sense but he still couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that his house was being torn apart. He sighed softly, petting Gilbird's head as he was fed by Francis, knowing his little friend couldn't feel or see him. If they were humans, he would have thought that the small bird was clinging to the larger white one, that their arms would be locked together and Pierre might even be petting the blonde locks Gilbert imagined his pet having as a human. They were _that_ pressed together on the rather large perch. "You're probably gonna wind up at ol' Franny's house once they finish dissecting this place, you know that Gil?" The albino ignored the roll of the living human's eyes at the nickname, simply continuing to stroke his little Gilbird's head.

No more words were spoken as they parted from the building, their last stop being Francis' own house. Antonio kissed the Frenchman’s cheek again, pausing before his departure, like he'd wanted to do more than that. Neither of the other two would know what exactly the Spaniard had wanted to do, though they both had very accurate ideas. Gilbert continued to glide beside his friend, walking through doorways like he couldn't float through the walls, sitting on his spot on the couch in the living as if he'd just been there yesterday. It was what made the situation comfortable and all the more painful, they both knew that. They both denied it too. Right then, with Francis turning the TV back on, changing it to the cartoons Gilbert would be watching and throwing popcorn pieces at if this were any other day because of their impracticality, it was two best friends going through an old routine and not a ghost spending his last days with the one person who meant the world to him.

For just a moment, the ghost believed this too much and went to wrap his arm around his friend. He had his palm on the man's shoulder before realizing that it wouldn't work, that he couldn't have that warm blonde lean on him and wrap his own arms around him. Francis must have notice this too, yet despite that, he still placed a hand over the barely visible outline on his shoulder, surprised to find that he really could fit his hand to it as if it were really there. Slowly, he did lean into his friend, hands still connected. It was almost as if he was leaning against the frame of a door but in an insane asylum, where it was cloud-like, almost unreal, but there was just enough there for him to see and to support him.

They stayed like that well into the night, occasionally changing the channel even though neither of them were really watching any of the shows. Slowly, Gilbert became more and more visible, less like a ghost and more like a human again. Color came back to his clothes and partially to his skin. Francis could feel the body next to him now, could feel the skin of the hand beneath his own. There was still no beat of the heart inside it or warmth radiating from it, but it was still there. Again, Gilbert tried to make sense of it from Kiku's stories, even going so far as to think of Arthur's "hallucinations" and his stories. He came to a conclusion from this train of thought.

"I think I'm going soon." It was all he could think of. Maybe this was God's way of granting him a last wish before he went to his afterlife. _It could also be the Devil's way of being an asshole tease but I'd like to think I'm going to Heaven after what people said at the funeral Then again, this_ is _Gilbert...._ The Frenchman simply nodded his acknowledgment, and even that took effort to do. He didn't want his friend to leave, not again. It hurt enough the first time, especially knowing he never got to tell him that he--

"Hey now...why are you crying?" Sapphire hues blinked in surprise as a cold thumb wiped away one of said tears. It was the first time the albino had ever seen those beautiful gems shed tears, unknowing of how many were present the day he'd initially died. "Come on, no tears, Fran. It's not like I'm leaving forever. I'll be waiting for ya up in Heaven!" It at least got a scoff from the blonde, tears still making their way down those rose colored cheeks. _Did I make him blush? Cute li'l Francis..._ "You think with all you have done in your life that you're going to Heaven?" Ruby eyes narrowed just a tad at that, their owner retorting with, "And how many times did you join me in 'all that I've done'? Fine then, I'll be waiting for you in Hell." They both managed to give a light chuckle, Francis curling closer to the now sturdy body.

"Whether it's Heaven or Hell or even eternal darkness, I'm still gonna wait for you, Francis. You're my best friend. You've been there with me since we were kids. I remember that day too; I threw a dodge ball at you and wound up needing to take you to the nurse's office for a bloody nose."

"I still haven't forgiven you for that, you know!" A half serious, half playful hit to Gilbert's chest followed, a small grunt escaping his lips at the impact.

When the blonde's cheeks became a brighter red at Gilbert grasping his hand to prevent him from doing it again, Gilbert knew that he'd made him blush earlier. "Heh heh...what's wrong Francis? You're looking a little flushed." He grinned at the further darkening of the blush, pulling Francis closer so that he was practically in his lap, back to chest. Not truly thinking things all the way through, he whispered to his friend, "You know, I like you too. Like 'Tonio does. I never really thought about telling you though, or giving you little hints like you've probably been doing to me, now that I think about it. I just kinda thought it would happen one day and you and me would just...be together. No matter how sappy any of that sounds."

Francis was astonished by this, by all of this. Yes, he had been dropping hints, even when he knew Gilbert would see them as his normal playful teasing at first. Yes, that was a little less romantic of a confession than Francis would have liked, but it fit Gilbert. It was blunt, sudden, unplanned and meaningful. It was unfair though. Why did they have to say this when Gilbert was getting ready to leave his life forever? Why now when they couldn't be together unless Francis died too?

"Gilbert--" He was cut off by the chilling press of lips against his neck, swallowing softly. "Fran, I don't know how long my body is gonna be like this. I don't even know why it's like this. But right now, I don't really care. I don't really want words or questions or answers. I just want to hold you so I can remember it while I'm waiting." Francis nodded, slowly, curling his arms around Gilbert's and resting his cheek on the head that was buried in the crook of his neck. They continued to watch TV until Francis felt his eyelids drooping, and no matter how hard he tried to keep them open, by sunrise, he was asleep in the Prussian's arms.

 

 

 

 

_**~continue~** _

Francis woke a few hours later, laying in his bed with his blankets over him. His body felt warm from being under the covers for so long but the rest of him felt icy cold as realization dawned on him. Gilbert was really gone now, he would have to be. Before he could truly feel any tears forming in his eyes, something out of place caught his sight and he lazily stood up to check it: a folded slip of paper taped to his dresser. He took it and unfolded it, finding the Prussian's writing scrawled over it.

_Morning, Fran!_

_Man, you couldn't have waited just a few more minutes to conk out could ya? I wish you'd told me you were tired. Would've made carrying you a lot easier. Not that I mind, you're pretty light. You'd better be eating all right or else I'm gonna haunt your ass. Kesesese. Anyway, I tried staying until you woke up but you were sawing some pretty big logs and it was starting to hurt to stay. So I left a good morning note in my place. I know it's not exactly an awesome way to say good bye but...not really good bye is it? I'll see you again when you go too. Just don't rush that time alright? I will kick your ass outta Heaven or Hell or wherever I'm going if I see you any time within the next year._

_See ya soon!_

It made Francis laugh so hard that the tears just spilled out. _Typical Gilbert..._ He just had to go out with a bang no matter what. Francis supposed that way just one of the things he loved about his friend. He smiled softly, laying back down on his bed and setting the note down next to his picture. "Don't worry Gilbert. I won't do anything too rash. You can trust me."

Maybe it was his imagination but he could have sworn that as he closed his eyes to rest a little longer, he felt a cold hand patting his head and an accented voice saying, "I know I can trust you, Fran. You're pretty awesome after all."

Sleepily, whether it was a real voice or not, the Frenchman replied with, "And you're still awesome too, Gilbert."


End file.
